


The Color of Music

by Night_Panther_13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Art, Artists, Deaf Character, Short One Shot, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Panther_13/pseuds/Night_Panther_13
Summary: Super short story involving a deaf painter and just a normal day. Not very exciting but I might add on to it if you guys want. ~comment below~





	The Color of Music

**Author's Note:**

> Also I'm so sorry for prettyifying an actual medical condition but this is how a friend of mine described it and I felt it honestly is such a different world than what I live in and every world has beauty. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, I tried to shine some light on the problem but might have done worse, sorry.

I was different in some ways. I wore my hair short and in a rainbow of colors. I dressed in the brightest flower filled skirts and dresses as well. I had three pet turtles instead of a cat or dog and named them Pablo, Gato, and Dave. I was an artist and worked with my best friend/ boyfriend and yeah, I’m deaf. I had gotten into a major car crash seven years ago. A drunk driver hit my car on the highway and the explosion cause damage to my ears. Not only that but one of the super tiny bones in your ear got way knocked out of place and I can’t get it fixed surgically. I am almost completely deaf. Another thing is hearing aids don’t help, they just don’t work for me. I don’t know why. It’s fine though. You get used to the ways things are and learn to read lips and communicate with hand gestures and sign language. I probably slur my words, but that’s okay. I could have died instead.  
Back to what really makes me who I am, painting. Ever since I was seven I traded crayons for watercolor. As I grew up my paintings evolved. Two years ago I started to work at the gallery where I met Jacob. He is amazing. In under four months he became fluent in sign language for me and is so sweet. I couldn’t have asked for a better person.  
I sighed happily as I walked into the studio. It’s huge windows let in a perfect amount of sunlight and as Jacob worked with stained glass mosaics it made the place even more gorgeous. The place was empty and dark. I turned on a light and got out the supplies I would need for the day. I got my little station set up facing the door incase a customer came before Jacob arrived. One did.  
“Hello sir what do you need?” I asked.  
“A pa-ting (painting) for ma daw-tor (daughter),” His lips moved. I hated trying to guess.  
“Here is the request form you can fill it out with specifics,” I replied. “I am just setting up shop so I apologize.” I was relieved to get away and occupy myself. After a few moments I looked up to see he had already gone. I grabbed the sheet and sat back down by a canvas. He wanted a orange fish in water. Okay straight to the point. I grabbed tubes of blue paint. Some electric while others gray hued. I got straight to work intertwining the silvery lines to royal depths of water. Fresh aquas blended with crisp shades of the sky. Splatters of white like sea foam sprinkled the canvas. It was well into noon before I even looked past my area. Jacob sat in the other corner doing a cute little mosaic. Very bright and vibrant colors worked into it.  
“Good morning,” I said.  
“Good morning,” He signed back. I sat on his desk carefully and smiled. He stopped working and looked up at me. He asked about lunch and I agreed. He took my hand and we walked out to the nearby sub shop. We ordered and sat outside on the patio. There was an glass awning like thing overhead were vines sprawled. Potted plants sat on top the tables in bursts of colors and scents. We ate quickly and walked back to work. I sat in front of my painting and hesitated for a moment. Trying to start up painting again is like trying to begin a story or write a new song from scratch. It takes a push to start it rolling. For inspiration I went to the studio’s pet goldfish. He swam lazily treading water.I watched the way his fins shined and glimmered. I was ready to get to work. Soon smooth gold, bright orange, and white splotches formed a fish. It’s shadow rippling in the depths of the water. The high point of the top fins glimmered white and it’s underbelly was a darker ginger. Shades of honey and amber flowed in between.  
I finished at three and was pleased with my work. I dragged Jacob from his desk to come look at it. He thought it was great but he was also a biased vote. I shushed him playfully and set it up to dry. I began to free paint for the rest of the afternoon. Small things like a single rose or a colorful background. I even did a tiny kitten. Although the finished product look more like one of those sad medieval attempts of a cat so I just painted dark colors over it and made it an eerie blood splatter painting.  
At the end of the day Jacob came to say goodnight before leaving. He took a look at my little works and smiled.  
“You didn’t used your favorite scheme today,” He said with the unheard language.  
“I thought people would get sick of it,” I replied. I loved dark blue and white. Whether that be in dutch china or a night sky full of pale moonlight, the colors are a great match. I also didn’t do a ballerina which I liked to do. I enjoyed going to ballet recitals on the odd Saturday because I could connect with them. The dancers feel the music for me. Their job is to express the emotions of sound through their movements. The audience has no need for music if the dancers did well. The emotion and color of music are more important than the notes themselves. My song is a red rich and dark. Sharp as a knife and smoothly blended. Dark as blood and shiny like water. My work with paint is the art of feelings.


End file.
